


Consequences

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: FIx It, HEX - Freeform, Happy Ending, M/M, Post Gauda Prime, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake has ordered Avon and his lover, Tarrant, off his base. Tarrant has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Decision](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/39025) by Jenner. 



(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

"Blake! Did you hear? Avon and Tarrant are leaving!"

I look up. For a change Vila hasn't got a bottle with him. Pity. I could use a drink. I get up and walk past Vila to the cabinet which holds my diminishing supply of liquor. I pour two drinks, but Vila shakes his head. "Yes, I heard," I say after swallowing the first drink. It provides at least an illusion of warmth inside me. I cradle the second drink and go to my bunk. 

Vila stares at me. "You knew."

"I told Avon to go, and to take his... pilot, with him." The second drink doesn't warm as well as the first. I am still half-frozen.

Vila argues, but half-heartedly. He knows how much it hurts me to see Avon, and to know that no matter how much Avon has hurt me, he remains untouched. Avon feels nothing. I am too unimportant even for his hate. If he stays I know I will find a way to make myself important to him, even if it is by killing his lover.

It frightens me, how tempting that is.

***

They should leave today- within the next eight hours at the latest, to meet my deadline, and I do trust Avon to be punctual.

I hadn't meant to be here, but somehow I am at the entrance to slipway 3. Avon's ship is within. I asked for the best ship that wasn't committed elsewhere, but the rebellion's limited resources mean 'best' is relative. I toy with the idea of offering my services as engineer to refine the engine calibrations. For a few hours, I could pretend to recapture the _Liberator_ days, working beside Avon. It is a bittersweet thought, but still tempting.

There is a voice ahead of me- two voices. I stop, still out of sight around the corner from the speakers. Tarrant is with Avon. And they are arguing.

My head comes up so sharply that my neck aches, and I concentrate. Yes. I cannot distinguish the words, but they are angry ones. Avon is sharp and Tarrant is snapping back.

I hesitate. I should leave them to their lover's tiff, but what if... I hesitate too long. There is a final exclamation from Avon, loud and clear, "Tarrant!"

There is the sound of rapid striding military-issue boots, and abruptly, I am face to face with my rival as he barely avoids colliding with me. Instinctively I reach out to catch him, to prevent either of us from falling. He is taller and slimmer than I am, his curls are undoubtedly more bouyant, and there is no match for the blue crystal of his eyes in the earth-brown of my own. The peaches and cream of his complexion is highlighted by a vivid flush. He is beautiful. There is no denying it.

And then I turn my head as the second pair of boots approach. Avon, head down and half-running, in that awkward way he has when he has been upset enough to forget to be graceful. His hair is tousled enough to show that it's not as thick as it once was, and there are lines settling into the corners of his eyes and his mouth. He's not as slim as he used to be, either. But the fire in the pit of my stomach burns at the sight of him, at his lips half-parted either in sudden exertion or in mid-exhortation. My heart races, and my mouth grows dry as his eyes widen on seeing me.

"Avon," Tarrant says over his shoulder as he wrestles free of me- a single word, but with an air of command. Tarrant looks at Avon and I am surprised to read something like affectionate exasperation in his expression.

Avon twitches his head sideways. "No."

"If you don't, I will."

Avon's fists clench so hard I can see the knuckles turn white. "No."

"You can't have it both ways. If you intend to dismiss me, you can't command me."

"Dismiss?" This doesn't make sense. I look back and forth between the lovers. Avon's face is terribly blank and still while Tarrant's is relaxed,-amused, even.

Tarrant opens his mouth and Avon shouts, "No!" but Tarrant says,"Avon plans to fly to the nearest of his bolt-holes. I'm not invited to stay." He shakes his head. "We have sex, Blake. That's it. Sex. He doesn't want emotional commitment and neither do I. Not after my Zeeona and his Anna and then, Termi..."

Avon interrupts, "Tarrant!" And this time the protest in Avon's voice sounds like panic, rather than anger.

Tarrant looks at him for a moment, then says, "I like your base, Blake. It's a pleasant change having reliable back-up, and ships to fight alongside me. You have good people here, and the beginnings of something that might actually work. I'm not giving that up simply because both of you are too pig-headed to talk things out. I'm going to the main recreation room, where I will proceed to get far too drunk to fly. If by the time I'm sober neither of you has had the courage to discuss your problems, then I'll take Avon wherever he wants to go, and I'll return with the ship. It may bother you to see me around your base, Blake, but I'm too damned good a pilot for your rebellion to lose my services." He nods sharply once, and leaves.

I stare at Avon, who has got himself under control again. "You don't love him?" I ask, needing confirmation. Perhaps Tarrant was just being kind, or perhaps it was just that he didn't love Avon. That wouldn't prevent Avon from loving him. I should know. And then I remember what Avon said about his feelings for Tarrant not being more than what he always felt for me- was that a hint that his feelings for me were stronger?

"Does it matter?" Avon says, looking very tired. "I can fly well enough to get to my destination. I regret to say that Tarrant is right- in so far as his value to your rebellion, that is. You should keep him. In time you may even grow accustomed to him, as I did."

"Do you _love_ him? Yes or no?"

Avon shrugs. "Does it matter?" he repeats. "I have had sex with him. Frequently. He's very good in bed. I enjoyed it. Does it please you to hear that?"

I want to reach out and shake the truth out of Avon, but I've always known that would be a mistake. Offend his dignity, and... and what? He'll leave? I've already ordered him to do that. I take a long stride forward, and grab Avon by the shoulders. Avon starts to struggle, and his arm collides with an unfortunately still tender reminder of our reunion.

My hands open of their own accord, and I fall to one knee, gasping at the unexpectedness of the pain.

"Are you all right?" Avon sounds uncharacteristically emotional, voice pitched a little too high, words not quite enunciated clearly. His diction teacher would disapprove.

I refuse to answer, or to look up. I am waiting, you see. Waiting for Avon to make the first move. Waiting to see whether Avon cares. If he cares, even if he prefers Tarrant's factory-fresh charms over my faded glories, then perhaps I can bear to have him stay. Perhaps. I will still want to kill Tarrant, but if the boy was right about their relationship, then Avon would simply acquire another lover, and I can't kill everyone who might find Avon attractive. I'd have no time for anything else.

"Blake?" Avon is on his knees now. He's clumsy at it, but he puts an arm around my shoulder. "It is true that I never meant to hurt you," he says so softly that I would not have heard, except that somehow his mouth is at my ear.

"But you did."

Avon lets out a long sigh, a warm puff of breath that stirs my hair and my heart. "It seemed the only proper response at the time. And I have tried to atone."

"Your apology was a model for the etiquette books and you've done a marvellous job on the base electronics. If you were an enemy, I would have quite forgiven you."

"And isn't that just what we were- enemies? I recall endless arguments." His voice is still silken in my ear, still meant for me alone.

"It was the only intimacy I dared allow myself with you. I couldn't risk what you might have said if I asked you to sleep with me."

"Ah." Avon sucks in a long breath, and then he says, "I hadn't the courage, either."

I turn then and look at Avon. His eyes meet mine for a moment, then he studies my shoulder, or perhaps the wall beyond me. "You wanted me," I say.

Avon nods. He is still leaning against me, and it is a simple matter to shift my weight and catch him as he tumbles off-balance. I hold him tight, tighter than I held him when I thought I was dying. "You still do," I say, and he does not correct me.

He isn't fighting me, but neither is he exactly melting in my arms. "No.It's too dangerous. For both of us."

I think about it for a moment. What assurance can I offer Avon? "What's your definition of safe?"

"Dead," Avon replied promptly, in a voice so bleak and cold that I shiver. "The only true safety is in the grave."

"Don't be so melodramatic," I say, heartily, covering my reaction. There must be some way of convincing Avon to risk commitment. Wait, what was it Tarrant had been about to say... he mentioned two names, one of them Anna, presumably Anna Grant. Her death may have been a tragedy, but Avon hadn't interrupted him then. "Avon, what was Tarrant about to say when you interrupted him?"

"Probably nothing of consequence."

"Avon," I scold him and he accepts it, the way he used to, before we were always at each other's throats. "Term... who or what is Term?"

Avon's breath is so ragged, for a moment I am concerned he is about to pass out. "AVON!"

Avon shakes his head. "Terminal was a mistake. That's all you need to know." Abruptly he pulls away from me, and rises to his feet, all smooth control and cold grace once more. He nods to me, politely. "You may sit in the dust of your base all day if you wish, but I have a schedule. Good bye, Blake." And Avon turns and strides off towards his ship, almost running.

I scramble to my feet. "Avon! Stop, I forgive you!" But it's too little and too late. Forgiveness would have kept him here before, but it's more complicated now. I know too much for his comfort, and too little for mine.

I take two steps after him before I change my mind. He's given me enough information to start. A word, possibly a name. I had no more when we began the search for Star One. But I had better hurry. When Avon's frightened, he moves quickly.

***

Vila would know, but would he tell me? As much as he talks about Avon when he drinks with me, somehow it's never specifics, just that Avon betrayed him in some way. He might tell me this Terminal story skewed sufficiently that I would not be able to use it.

The others of Avon's crew might know, but I am reluctant to ask the women, and I do _not_ wish to hear it from Tarrant.

Which leaves one disinterested observer, who is fortunately in my quarters at the moment.

"Orac," I say almost before the computer's key has slid into place, "Tell me about Terminal."

"You will have to be more specific," Orac tells me. "The word 'terminal' can have many meanings."

I have neither the time nor the patience to amuse Orac. I grip his case until I hear the plastic joins squeak. "Orac, Avon is about to leave this base. The only way I might prevent that is if I understand the significance Terminal holds for him. If I lose..." I choke momentarily, "If I lose Avon because of your obstinance...no. I won't threaten you, Orac. Just tell me, what does Terminal mean to Avon?"

Orac lets out an electronic sigh-equivalent and says, "Terminal is an artificial planetoid on which Servalan laid a trap which resulted in the loss of the _Liberator_ and Cally's death. I was also damaged at the  
time, which I am certain was a source of emotional distress for Avon."

I won't argue with a computer's ego. I'm too busy thinking. "A trap, Orac? A trap needs bait. What did Servalan dangle in front of Avon's nose?"

Orac's 'sigh' is louder this time. "I am reluctant to admit it was a very clever plan, indeed. I had not realized just how easily manipulated Avon was. He had always seemed admirably pragmatic."

"ORAC!" 

"You," Orac replied, testily. He hated being hurried. "Messages were sent purporting to be from you, offering a rich reward and the opportunity to work together if he helped you. Interestingly," Orac mused, "Avon did not question the amount of the reward. It was as if it was unimportant."

"Me." I swallow, thinking how Avon must have felt. The one time he gave in to sentiment, he lost so very much. He'd been more than fond of Cally in an almost sibling relationship, and _Liberator_ \- he had once told me that _Liberator_ was the only safety. To have lost both family and home while trying to help me- that had to have hammered the final nails in the coffin where he stored his emotions. "What happened? In detail, but quickly, Orac, quickly."

Orac 'cleared his throat' and said, "As I was not present for all the events, and was incapacitated for part of the time, my report must necessarily be collated from various sources, primarily Federation electronic surveillance on Terminal, and later verbal reminiscences of the crew, generally accompanied by copious intake of intoxicants. I can not, therefore, assign it the highest degree of reliability."

"Just do your best. And remember, make it short, but don't leave out anything significant to Avon."

"Very well. Avon refused to deviate from the assigned course, threatening Tarrant's life when he attempted to intervene. The _Liberator_ was thus contaminated with fluid particles of an unknown nature, which ultimately destroyed the ship. On arrival on the planet Terminal, he was drugged and electronically convinced that you were there, injured. Servalan offered you in exchange for the ship. Avon refused, even at threat to his life, but as _Liberator_ was already beyond salvage, Tarrant agreed. Servalan told Avon you were dead." 

Orac paused. "I mention the last only because the general consensus of the crew was that it had affected Avon deeply, which I assume falls under your designation of 'significant'."

"Yes, you assume correctly. Go on."

"Servalan had booby-trapped the base. Cally was killed in the same explosions which damaged me. The then current owner of _Scorpio_ arrived with the intent of killing the crew for his own purposes, but was ultimately unsuccessful in his endeavor. Is that sufficient detail?"

"Yes, that's quite enough," I said as I pulled the key and Orac grumbled his  
way back to 'sleep'.

***

"Avon?"

"Go away, Blake." 

"I thought you were the one who was leaving, even though I've changed my mind. I don't want you to go."

"I am trying to do what's best for both of us," Avon said. He pulled back from the console he was adjusting. The flight deck of the two-man craft was so small that he couldn't really get away from me, but then Avon had always been able to retreat inside himself whenever I got too close.

I put a hand inside the collar of my shirt, and rub my neck, while I try to think what to say. Avon's eyes follow every movement, but he is unhelpfully silent. "I love you. You love me."

Avon blinks. "And your point is...?" He twirls a probe in his hands, sees me watching, and puts it down with exaggerated precision on top of the console. He folds his arms across his chest.

"We should be together. We're safer that way."

Avon blinks again, more rapidly. It's almost like watching a computer process data. "I can't follow the logic."

"All anyone has to do is threaten you, and I'll be there, Avon. Even if I _know_ it's a trap."

Avon stopped blinking. "You spoke to Orac."

"I spoke to Orac."

"Well, you needn't worry about it. I intend to vanish completely. It's not that difficult to insert a new identity into a computer. I doubt you'll ever hear of me again."

"But will you hear about me?"

Avon swung away from me, put his hands on the console, and rested his weight on them. It was a peculiar pose. He looked like a man awaiting either the lash across his back or his lover.

Of course, in Avon's case, he probably associated the two. "Avon?"

"No. No, I won't hear, because I won't be listening. There _are_ places in the universe where you and your Cause aren't even mentioned in the evening news report."

I rub my chin, which is noisier than usual, as I've forgotten to shave the last few days. Avon trembles. I see his arms shake. I affect him that much, and he thinks he can run away to some bucolic frontier and forget all about me? "There won't be much call for computers on those places."

"I have other skills."

I try to imagine Avon working as an appliance repair man, or a maintenance engineer. It isn't him. He likes things that can argue back at him. Probably the main reason he's stopped to listen to me now. "All right. I'll just pack my bag." I turn but before I've made two steps, Avon laughs.

"Oh, no, you don't."

"I don't what?" I look back.

"You offer me this tremendous sacrifice. I realize how much I must mean to you, break down, and promise to remain at your side, as your lover and loyal assistant in your insane Cause."

"I wouldn't mind if you agreed to that, but I can see it's out of the question. Just give me a few minutes to gather some belongings and ratify the change in command."

"You're mad." I have finally captured Avon's attention fully.

"No. I'm one man. The rebellion won't be destroyed by the loss of one man. There's only one thing..."

"What?"

"I'll have to leave Orac here. We won't need it where we're going, and Deva will."

"DEVA?" Avon strides forward, and reaches out to me. I hadn't really noticed it, but for such a reserved individual, Avon used to manage some fairly close contact with me on a regular basis. I'm almost nostalgic for being battered around _Liberator's_ flight deck, with Avon's arms around me. But I should be paying attention to his words, and not his body language at the moment. "The man is a capable tech, but he doesn't know the first thing about handling Orac!"

I shrug, feeling Avon's hands rise and fall with my shoulders. "He'll manage."

Avon is chewing his lip now in a gesture of indecision which is as rare for him as it is charming. I've been very good, very calm, and reserved, carefully carrying out my plan... but Avon's white teeth worrying at his lip... I shift inside Avon's grip, and I put my mouth down on his. Hard. He gasps, and I take advantage of the opening, thrusting my tongue inside. My hands are at his hips holding him in place for an instant, then I am ripping at the clasps of his trousers and forcing them down over his hips.

He squirms against me, and I start to come back to my senses, worrying that I have ruined everything with my loss of self-control, but as soon as I shift away, he has his hands between us, undoing my buckle and zip with frantic haste and reaching in to capture my cock.

He's greedy for it, and so am I. His buttocks fit nicely into the palms of my hands and I pull him against me, bared cock to bared cock and dig my hands into his cheeks even as he clutches at me. I slam him against the console, and thrust so hard that my ears ring. He's screaming and so am I.

It doesn't last long enough, though we did try to slow down. I think he came first, but I'm not sure. It's not the sort of thing I care to compete with him about, anyway. My ears are still ringing, and my legs are molten metal, bending bonelessly. I'm leaning on Avon who is rammed up against the console gasping for breath and staring up at me with hugely luminous eyes, frightened still, but with a sort of awe in them that pleases my ego.

A hand reaches past me. "Excuse me, Blake", a voice says politely. Tarrant. Tarrant!

I jump, fall clear of the console, and reach out to Avon, so that the two of us wind up on the deck, tangled in our lowered trousers.

Tarrant flicks a switch on the console and the ringing in my ears ceases. He shakes his head. "Not on the flight deck, boys. It plays havoc with the instruments." He makes shooing motions at us. "Go on, try it in a regular bed. I'll clean up here."

I would like to strangle the insolent pup, and I see from Avon's face that I would have help. But then, again... I grin at Avon. "Come on."

***

It doesn't take too long to convince Avon that my bed is much more comfortable than the narrow bunks on the two-man ship. Perhaps we'll leave when we can find a bigger ship, but in the meantime, we've got a revolution to run.

But we do take time off for bad behavior at fairly frequent intervals.

After all, we're only human.

**Author's Note:**

> As the President of HEX (Happy Ending eXpeditors, a phrase coined by Nova) I had often (with pre-approval) written positive ending sequels to other author's downbeat endings on the adult Blake's 7 mailing list. (Heck, I'd HEXed canonical episodes, too- B7 was BLEAK so there was plenty of temptation to fix things.)
> 
> In December of 2001 we were commemorating (by writing fic) the twentieth anniversary of the airing of the final episode of Blake's 7, which was the most downbeat, heartbreaking (in an awesome way) series ending. This naturally led to a lot of downbeat ending fics, and my friends generously let me sequel them. I tried to make each of mine actually work as a standalone, but of course they work better if you read the inspiration, too.


End file.
